Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? (8 page)

Jack gave an inspirational welcome speech in what Ellie
noticed was a more pronounced Yorkshire accent than normal. Hetherington, a Yorkshireman himself, smiled and nodded, his chins wobbling. Then a very nervous Hugo took to the floor. He had sensed that Mr Hetherington was one of the old school and that failure was in the air. Mercifully, he didn’t pull any faces, but he undersold them and the reason behind the new approach so badly in his introduction that Ellie wasn’t really sure he had finished until he sat down. She felt panic jitter through her and looked across at Jack, but he was helping Hetherington to some water.

She and Lesley did their best. They were bright and enthusiastic; they talked about how the TV ad would pan out, going through each storyboard and highlighting little details and finishing touches. They passed around a model of the hot pink knickers and showed how they would look when they sang.

The expression on Mr Hetherington’s face grew grimmer and grimmer. The rest of his team was picking up cues from him and one by one their smiles died. In the end it was only Pauline Kennedy and Jack who were maintaining eye contact. At one point Jack smiled encouragingly, a genuine smile that went all the way up to his eyes, but his body language was telling a different story. He was ready for a fight.

Ellie concentrated on Pauline as she pressed the button on the CD player to let them listen to the song, complete
with music. The atmosphere worsened as the song played, and as the track finished, there was a tremendous bang as Mr Hetherington slammed his hand down on the table, making all the bottles of expensive water jump and jiggle.

‘I have never, ever seen such a load of amateurish nonsense in my life. I could go to any other agency in town and get something a million times better than this. A professional job. In fact …’ he paused for effect ‘… we saw some impressive stuff from Padstow Scott earlier this week.’ He let that little thought lie there for a while and then he turned to Ellie and fixed her with a baleful stare. ‘Whose idea was this? Was it yours?’

Ellie opened her mouth and nodded. Her brain was crying at her to speak out and say that it was about making a creative difference, about setting his product apart. She tried to remember all the disparate bits of information she knew about demographic trends and audience outlook and the San Pro market, but all that came out of her mouth was, ‘Urrrrrr.’

‘You’ll make us a laughing stock,’ Hetherington bellowed directly at her. ‘What are you, some kind of student here for the holidays? You want to get yourself out in the real world and see how it operates.’

He started counting out the ways he didn’t like the concept. ‘It’s offensive. It’s childish. It’s in poor taste. When I think of my mother having to sit through this … this … filth …’

Ellie glanced around. To her left, Lesley was trying to say it was her idea too. To her right, Hugo was doing a passably good imitation of a side table.

Then Jack was on his feet, smoothing down Hetherington’s anger and reminding him of all the good work the agency had done for his products over the years. He pointed out that there was nobody better at giving his company tried-and-trusted work, but that Hetherington shouldn’t blame them for attempting something different.

Hetherington was still grumbling away, but less forcefully, when Jack suggested they all adjourn to the restaurant up the road, the one with the Michelin stars and the good wine cellar. Just to have a little chat. If they went now, they’d serve them a late lunch.

‘All right,’ said Hetherington, ‘but don’t bother to invite these two. Keep them and their stupid knickers out of my sight.’

Moments later the room had emptied of Jack, Hugo, Mr Hetherington and the rest of the client team, and Lesley and Ellie were left sitting among the debris of what had once seemed like a brilliant idea.

It had taken Ellie and Lesley quite some time to pull themselves together enough to make it back to their office. Ellie was still shaking when she got there, and Lesley wasn’t saying a word.

Ellie put her head down on her desk and wallowed in
the shame and embarrassment of failure. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say when Hetherington had shouted at her. The way Jack had looked at her like she was a complete idiot hadn’t helped. He was probably planning to fire her now.

Ellie heard Lesley pick up the phone and then she was talking to Megan. Her conversation was peppered with swear words and negative comments about men who should have retired long ago. When she finished the call, Lesley stared down at her desk. She’d toned her hair colour down for the presentation, a dark black-blue, and sitting there like that, she bore a strong resemblance to a depressed crow.

If the knickers idea hadn’t been so brilliant, perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

As the afternoon ground on, a steady stream of visitors dropped in. Some, like Juliette and Mike, had come to offer genuine support. Others, like Jon and Zak, had come to gloat. Jon had at least kept a straight face, but Zak had barely been able to stop himself from laughing out loud. When he’d stuffed his hand in his mouth theatrically, Ellie had hoped that his black nail varnish would chip off and choke him.

Zak had also managed to drop two little bombs into the conversation that even now were blowing holes in Ellie’s brain. The first was, ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure you won’t have single-handedly lost the agency the account.’
The thought of what that might mean for people’s jobs was horrendous. The second comment, ‘Hmm. Wonder what Gavin will have to say about all this when he gets back?’ was making her feel sick. Who was going to remember that Jack had thought their idea was good?

Gavin was going to really go to town on them. They’d never been his favourite team anyway. They probably came a very poor third after Juliette and Mike. Whichever way you looked at it, today had been a bad day at the office.

Eventually there was a noise in the corridor and Jack was standing in the doorway.

‘Panic over,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t talk him round on the knickers idea – he still hates it – but he’s going to give us another chance. I tweaked Zak and Jon’s idea a bit and ran it past him and Hetherington wants us to work that up and re-present it to him before he retires.’

Ellie didn’t know whether to cry with relief or take bites out of the carpet at the thought of Zak and Jon’s idea making it on to the TV. The way Lesley was digging the point of her pencil into the desk suggested that she felt the same.

Jack came right into the office, bending his head to avoid hitting it on the slope of the ceiling, and Ellie could see that he was carrying a bottle of champagne.

‘Are you going to club us to death with that?’ she said.

He gave her a lukewarm smile. ‘Don’t think I’m not
tempted. But really, it’s not your fault. It was a good idea, a brilliant idea. Sometimes you just don’t get the clients you deserve. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool, don’t-stick-your-head-above-the-parapet guy. You could have taken your own knickers off and waved them at him and he still wouldn’t have liked it.’

As he finished talking, Mrs MacEndry arrived with two champagne flutes. She gave them a sympathetic smile and patted Ellie on the hand before going out again. Jack took the wire cage off the top of the bottle and opened the champagne, spilling some down his suit but not appearing to care.

‘Tomorrow we’ll have a bit of a post-mortem,’ he said, putting the bottle down on Ellie’s desk. ‘There were places we all loused up, Hugo included, and I was at fault for assuming you’d had more experience of presenting to clients than today’s performance indicated.’

That red-hot shame was back and Ellie wanted to say something about the fact that Gavin had never let them get much experience of presenting, preferring to keep them up in their attic, but she was put out to see Lesley nodding in agreement with Jack. She kept quiet and concentrated on watching the froth slipping down the champagne bottle.

‘Look on it as an opportunity to see where we can improve next time,’ Jack said, giving them both a meaningful look. ‘But for now, congratulate yourselves on not
being mediocre, then go home and forget about it until tomorrow.’

‘Do you know, I really, really like Jack,’ Lesley said when he had gone and she had consumed two glasses of champagne. She was all moist-eyed and smiley.

Ellie sighed. ‘If you go on like this, I’m going to ring up the Lesbian Party and get you expelled. You need to get a grip.’

‘No, I do not want a grip,’ Lesley said very precisely, showing how drunk she was. ‘I only have eyes and all other bits for Megan. But he is a sheep in wolf’s clothing that man … a gent and not a werewolf.’

‘Crappity, crap, crap, crap,’ Ellie heard herself say, forming the words even more precisely than Lesley had. ‘You are so wrong you couldn’t be wronger. You know nothing … He is a wolf in wolf’s clothing with wolf underpants and matching accessories. However, I will concede that giving us the champagne was extremely decent. Now stop talking gibberish and get Elvis out.’

Lesley stood up and, after much effort, did as she was asked, and they played a few games of Volley Elvis.

Another glass of champagne each and they were feeling greatly cheered up. They started to put the various pairs of knickers on their heads and take photos of each other. Then they finished the bottle of champagne, and once Lesley got her jacket sleeves sorted out, she went off to meet Megan.

Ellie packed up too and in the lift bumped into Jack. Perhaps she should give him credit for not tearing their heads off.

‘I’m glad you came back when you did,’ she slurred at him. ‘We were about to make a noose by tying all the knickers together.’

‘A little drastic,’ he said dryly. ‘Besides, much as I enjoy administering a good kicking where it’s deserved, I do know you creatives need TLC in these situations. Otherwise next time you’ll play it safe.’

Well, that was another surprise. He was right: sometimes you needed someone to let you be brave. Ellie gave him a big smile and concentrated on staying upright.

They had reached the ground floor and Ellie was halfway across reception when she heard Jack call out, ‘Oh, Miss Somerset.’

This was getting to be a habit. She turned, unsteadily, to face him.

‘Don’t think I’m interfering,’ he said, ‘but you might want to take those knickers off your head before you go out on the street.’

It was almost dusk and Ellie was standing really close to Jack in his office.

‘This is very good copy, Ellie,’ he said, smiling. ‘In fact, it’s the best I’ve ever seen. You’re a very good writer. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Jack.’

‘And you know how I reward good writers, don’t you, Ellie?’ His voice was so low that it was almost a growl. He took a step nearer.

Ellie lifted her head and saw the gleam in his eyes. He was so close that she could see the threads in his shirt, the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t moving, just giving her that intense stare.

She wished he’d stop. Or start. Anything but this mind-blowing anticipation.

‘This is how I reward good writers,’ Jack whispered into her ear, and then, bending his head, he kissed her on the lips, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth. That’s
all it took, one kiss and she felt a spasm of passion run through her. She kissed him back just as roughly and felt his hands come round to cup her bottom as he pushed himself against her to show her how turned on he was.

A few stuttering steps back and she was leaning against his desk; a deft movement from him and she was sitting on it. And then, glorious torture, he got hold of her knickers and dragged them down her legs and threw them across the room.

Now he had his hand on her and then his fingers inside her and she was burning down there for him. She didn’t know what she was doing. She arched her back, pulling him deeper and deeper inside …

Ellie sat up quickly, breathing hard. She looked to her left. Yup, Sam was there next to her in bed, snoring into the pillow. There was no desk in sight. She lay back down. It was all Hetherington’s fault that she had knickers on the brain.

After a few minutes she rolled over and waited for her heart rate to calm down before curling into Sam’s back. Holding him close, she enjoyed his familiar warmth, the deep sound of his breathing.

But it was a long time before she was able to go back to sleep.

Jack sat and gazed at the London skyline and waited for Ellie and Lesley to knock on his office door. Normally he enjoyed the view, the jumble of domes and spires, glass and steel that stretched away from his window. He liked the way you could look out at something that was 300 years old and then turn your head and see a building that had only been finished last year. All vying for attention, jostling for space. All that energy. If he opened the window, he could hear the traffic and the sound of new foundations being hammered into the ground somewhere close by. It usually made him feel alive and right at the heart of things. The city changing and evolving but never dying. A continuous, comforting thread of life.

Today all that noise and activity only seemed to be giving him a headache.

He became aware that he was frowning deeply and made a conscious effort to stop. Soon he was doing it again.

The trouble was, he wasn’t exactly sure what to say to
Lesley and Ellie. The other little post-presentation postmortem meeting with Hugo had been fairly straight-forward and mainly focused on Hugo’s need to double-check his information, get better at thinking on his feet and never, ever undermine the creatives’ efforts in an attempt to curry favour with the client.

With Lesley and Ellie, the logical route would be to stick to the facts. They needed to get a much better understanding of the business case behind any creative approach so that they could have all the information they needed at their fingertips. That way, they could have hurled hard facts and figures at Hetherington when he had turned on them. They could have spoken the kind of language he understood, rather than sitting there like a pair of catatonic rabbits.